“Now how will you get to [your next destination]?” Maga asked. “By row boat or motor boat.”
“By row boat?” I burst out laughing. “Not exactly.”
“Oh, I thought you might go on a personal boat or something.”
“I wish, but no, we’re not rich. We’ll go by ferry with the rest of the people who need/want to go there.”
“Oh, okay then. Wow. That was a good shot. I’m watching the US Open. Tennis. Did you ever play?”
“Well, not like you did,” I had to speak up over the volume of the TV. “Or like my mom did. I didn’t play in school or in organized sports, but at Nyoda [summer camp], my last year there, I was a counselor and I taught tennis. It was a bit silly because I didn’t have many technical skills, but the girls just wanted to hit the tennis ball, so I happily let them do that.”
“Nyoda! I forgot you went there.”
“I did. From ages 7-15. My formative years.”
“You went much longer than I did.”
“But it’s still so amazing that we ended up at the same camp all those years apart.”
For someone who was born in NJ (Maga), but lived the majority of her life in CO to go to the same camp as her granddaughter, who lived her childhood years in MD, but went to a camp in NJ, but then moved to NJ due to her father’s job…and then stopped going to that camp because if she wanted to make something of the sports she did play, she needed to go to specific sports camps to improve her skills. Wow. What a crazy, overlapping world we live in and even though we’re related, the threads were far apart.
If only everyone took the time to listen and learn to each other’s stories, imagine all the overlapping threads to be discovered. Imagine all the commonalities between us. Even if we don’t have genes connecting us. Life does. Amen to that.